


The Wolf I Will Follow Into The Storm

by milk_pie



Series: So very soft, my love [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I saw some art okay, M/M, Nightmare mention, Nightmares, Song Fic Kinda?, fluffy fluff, geralt is SOFT, i don’t know how to tag, jaskier is in love, jaskier singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milk_pie/pseuds/milk_pie
Summary: Jaskier wakes up to find Geralt having a nightmare. He’s a little unsure how to comfort the Witcher, and does the best he knows how. Geralt appreciates it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: So very soft, my love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628380
Comments: 39
Kudos: 814





	The Wolf I Will Follow Into The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Craftgamerzz on tumblr made this lovey art (https://craftgamerzz.tumblr.com/post/190678353401/jaskier-singing-geralt-to-sleep-is-my-tea) and I had to write a fic based on it.  
> This is the first fic I’ve ever fully written and posted, so please leave comments and criticism!! It’s a little rough but I just had to get the idea out.
> 
> Edit: wow this got so much more love than I ever expected??? Thank you all so much it’s encouraged me to write more for these boys! I’ve gone and made this story a part of a series which will consist of similar fluffy one shots. Please check the others out, and thank you again!

The White Wolf was good at many things, in Jaskier’s humble opinion. Monster slaying, to start, as well as brooding, scowling, and looking positively delectable even when covered head to toe in monstrous gore. Geralt was also very good at pretending he was perfectly fine when he was absolutely not, and Jaskier prided himself in being able to read Geralt so well as to notice when he was in one of these absolutely-not-fine states. He could catch the tiny frowns, the crease between his amber eyes, the way the muscles in his shoulders would tense and he’d shift his weight from foot to foot. People liked to wail and cry that Witchers had no feelings, but Jaskier knew this was a terrible falsehood. His Witcher, for instance, was currently feeling rather miserable, if the way he was tossing and turning in his bed roll was any indication. 

Actually that was a little startling, as even when upset Geralt did not show it quite so obviously. Or so loudly. It was the dead of night, the embers from their dinner fire giving off the faintest red glow, a warm summer breeze was rustling the tree leaves in a lovely song that always reminded Jaskier faintly of the ocean, and Geralt was ruining the calm with his incessant fidgeting. Jaskier was prepared to roll over and try to get himself back to the enticing dreamed he’d just been having (it was already sliding through his fingers like sand but he could recall warm lips and tantalizing ivory skin and he certainly didn’t want to miss the rest), but suddenly Geralt was making another noise. It was— crying? Maybe not quite crying, but it was certainly a soft little miserable snuffling sound that Jaskier never wanted to hear from his friend ever again as long as he lived.

Jaskier sat up so quickly his head span, and he had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the din of their camp site. The moon was near full, and she offered an absolutely picturesque dappling of light through the shuddering leaves. It was just enough to make out Roach swaying gently with sleep on the edge of the tiny clearing, and much closer, Geralt’s balled up silhouette, shaking ever so slightly. Jaskier was at a loss, he himself had been awoken from nightmares on a decent number of occasions by the Witcher, who was kind enough to offer a reassuring word or two before turning back to sleep, but Jaskier had never been on the other end of it. He supposed it made sense, taking into consideration the line of work Geralt endured, he’d just never seen the infamous monster hunter so... vulnerable. It made something twinge in the bard’s chest, a pressure deep down that made it feel like his throat was going to pop with emotion. He swallowed thickly. 

Geralt made another pained breathy sound, and Jaskier was instantly in motion, fumbling out of his bed roll to bring himself to his friend’s side. The lute player’s usually clever hands hovered awkwardly for a moment, before he finally settled them on Geralt’s arm and shook lightly.

“Geralt.” 

Geralt startled, eyes snapping open and instantly landing on Jaskier, upon which he settled slightly, a gentle breath puffing out of him in a relieved sort of sigh.

“Jaskier,” he rumbled, his post-sleep voice raspy in a way that made the bard in question shudder. Geralt moved to sit up, and Jaskier rocked back on his heels to give him more room. Geralt looked almost lost, staring blankly into his lap before raising his head to turn to Jaskier. “Wha—“

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier suddenly felt weirdly defensive. “It just sounded like you were having a nightmare and I understand how miserable that can be so I just thought—“ 

“It’s alright.” Geralt was peering at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. He’d slumped over slightly, and was tilting his head just enough to hold eye contact with Jaskier. His hair glowed silver in the moonlight, and hung in a loose frame around his sharp features, somehow softening them and making the Witcher look gentle and unsure. Jaskier barely registered that he was holding his breath, and let it out in a sudden rush. “Are _you_ alright?” Geralt added.

Jaskier spluttered. “ _Me_? I’m _fine_ I’m just trying to make sure _you_ , Geralt, my very best friend—“ Geralt snorted in amusement and raised his glowing eyes to the stars as if asking for guidance. “—in the _whole wide world_ , I might add,” Jaskier invoked a scandalously offended tone there. “—is okay!” The rambling bard finished with a huff, and crossed his arms over his chest. Geralt dipped his chin back down against his chest, and the curtain of his hair fell in a rivulet to cover his face, but not before Jaskier caught the tiny smile that had begun to grace Geralt’s lips. He felt his cheeks warm.

Geralt breathed deeply for a moment, before raising his head to look to Jaskier again. “It was a bad dream, nothing I can’t handle.” He sounded confident, but Jaskier caught the wet shimmer in his eyes and frowned.

“If you say so.” He moved back towards his own bedroll, despite the growing urge to wrap Geralt up in a big warm hug, knowing it likely would be met with little gratitude. “I’ll just be.. over here,” he finished lamely, plopping down on his bed roll, and then lying back somewhat awkwardly. He felt like the conversation wasn’t quite over, but knew from experience pushing Geralt rarely ended in his favor. 

There was a quite rustling as Geralt also laid back down, and the two stared up into the canopy of rustling leaves and twinkling stars for several beats. Jaskier almost thought Geralt had fallen back to sleep, when suddenly a soft voice broke the quiet. 

“I’m not,” a hesitant pause. “I’m not sure if I can go back to bed.” Geralt was so quiet Jaskier barely caught the whisper, and the nervous tone just about broke the poet’s heart. He continued to lay prone, wracking his mind for an appropriate response. 

“I could... sing something.” It was the first thing to come to mind, a faint memory of his mother singing him a lullaby as a babe after his own bad dream. For a few seconds only the breeze in the leaves could be heard.

And then, “alright.” Jaskier blinked dumbly up at the moon, not at all expecting Geralt to actually agree. Considering how many times the Witcher had outright insulted and complained about his singing, he didn’t think the White Wolf would actually find any comfort in his voice, but Jaskier couldn’t get the pained sounds Geralt had made in his sleep out of his head, so he was more than willing to try. 

“Alright,” he parroted back, mentally scrambling for a song Geralt might actually like. He took a shaky breath,

“ _These scars long have yearned for your tender caress,_

 _To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own,_ ” 

Jaskier’s voice was soft and light, and rose into the sky as if to take a place next to the moon herself. It was the only song he could seem to remember, and he hoped Geralt wouldn’t listen too intently to the lyrics themselves. 

“ _Rend my heart open, then your love profess,_

 _A winding, weaving fate to which we both atone,_ ”

Jaskier risked a glance towards Geralt. The Witcher merely kept his face cast upward, he hadn’t bothered to tuck himself back into his bed roll. Jaskier was thankful for the warm night. 

“ _You flee my dream come the morning,_

_Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,_

_To dream of ivory locks entwisted, stormy_

_Of amber eyes, glistening as you weep,_ ”

Geralt’s face turned towards Jaskier then. Shit. The bard held his eyes, taking a deep breath for the next verse.

“ _The wolf I will follow into the storm,_

_To find your heart, its passion displaced,_

_By ire ever growing hardening into stone,_

_Amidst the cold to hold you in a heated embrace,_ ”

Geralt began to rise then, and Jaskier’s voice stuck in his throat. The bard felt frozen to the spot as his friend approached him. Still laid flat, Jaskier watched Geralt tower over him, his yellow eyes boring into Jaskier’s own cornflower blue. Geralt then slumped down all in one motion and laid himself out next to Jaskier, who was currently perfecting his wooden plank impression. The pair were pressed right against each other, from shoulder to foot, and Jaskier could feel the heat of Geralt’s thigh seeping into his own. 

“You can finish the song,” Geralt grunted, closing his eyes and tipping his chin up slightly as he settled into a more comfortable position. 

“Right,” Jaskier breathed the word so faintly it was barely audible even to the Witcher’s sensitive ears. “The song.” He took a shaky breath. 

“ _You flee my dream come the morning,_

_Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,_

_To dream of ivory locks entwisted, stormy,_

_Of amber eyes, glistening as you weep,_

_I know not if fate would have us live as one,_

_Or if by love's blind chance we've been bound,_

_The wish I whispered, when it all began,_

_Did it forge a love you might never have found?_

_You flee my dream come the morning,_

_Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,_

_To dream of ivory locks entwisted, stormy,_

_Of amber eyes, glistening as you weep._ ”

The warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the lush trees while the stars twinkled through the canopy. The moon watched quiet and comforting. Roach swayed with sleep on the edge of the tiny clearing. The White Wolf slept. The poet pondered.

**Author's Note:**

> Kind scary posting my first ever fic! Hope y’all liked it please toss a comment to your writer and come bother me on tumblr @ thriftstoreboy 
> 
> Also!! The song Jaskier sings is “Wolven Storm” from the Witcher 3 soundtrack, although I altered a couple of words to make it about Geralt instead of Yennefer.


End file.
